You Can Be My Wingman Anytime
by Kelly1
Summary: Bobby's tired of being everyone's little brother. Wee!Bobby-centric pre-series original team Hank, Jean, Scott, Warren, and Bobby dynamics fic. Implied but mostly unobtrusive Warren/Jean/Scott triangle.


**Title:** You Can Be My Wingman Anytime  
**Author:** kelly1_watxm  
**Summary:** For andthexmen's Off-Season Fic Off #9. Bobby-centric pre-series original team (Hank, Jean, Scott, Warren, and Bobby) fic.  
**Rating:** M for language, sexual references in banter  
**Characters:** Wee!Bobby + ensemble original X-team  
**Pairing:** Implied but mostly unobtrusive Warren/Jean/Scott triangle (It apparently used to exist in the comics and I wanted to take it for a spin. Why do all my OT3's involve Jean and Scott, brain?)  
**Warnings**: Uhhh, spoilers from a 20+ year old movie. Some swearing and crudeness. Attempt to write from a 10 year olds' perspective/speech patterns. A (theoretically) short story that got away from me and is now 9400+ words. Seriously, where did you go 1300-word oneshots of my youth?  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own. :: sigh ::

**A/N:** I've probably seen the movie Top Gun (which is where the title and some the references in this fic come from) at least 15-20 times on bus trips or as the Saturday afternoon movie on Fox. I'm hoping somebody else has. I have no idea if this fic makes sense if you haven't, but I hope most of the team dynamic stuff still does. (A vague knowledge of Ocarina of Time and the 1998 Yankees lineup won't do you wrong either) As a vague primer, Tom "Iceman" Kazanski is Val Kilmer's character and infinitely cooler than Tom Cruise's character "Maverick." They fly fighter jets in some special elite school. There's posturing and a girl to be won and DRAMANGST. Also, I know that, in the comics, Bobby would have been "Iceman" long before Top Gun ever came out, but I'm assuming that S1 WatXM takes place in 2007-8ish and umm :: chronological hand wave-ry :: I usually sit on fics this long for a while, but I'm out of time. I think I may hate it. (::ringing endorsement for you to invest 9000+ words of reading into this....::)

* * *

Bobby was on his third dungeon and his fourth can of Coke, taking perverse pleasure in rotting both his brain and his teeth because he was feeling dangerous and defiant and those were the worst sins his ten-year-old brain could conjure. (Traitors!) He viciously slashed at one of the Bari surrounding the boss. He should be enjoying this more, he knew. (It felt all wrong. Friday nights were supposed to be movie nights at the mansion.) Last week, before the Professor had even finished his sentence telling them that they could each have something small for completing the Danger Room session on level eight, Bobby was already envisioning playing this game. He'd wanted Ocarina of Time for months, anticipating its release. Of course, that was before Scott's proposition.

"Professor, do you think it might be alright...." Scott paused, reworded. "The Concourse in town, the theatre on Washington Street? It's doing midnight showings of old movies for the next two weeks. We--Warren and Hank and Jean and I," he clarified, "We were kind of hoping we could go next Friday. They're showing Top Gun."

Warren slung his arm around Jean, earning a scowl from Scott, and put on a fake Southern drawl. "I feel the need..."

Jean giggled and pushed him off, finishing with her own terrible accent, "...the need for speed."

Bobby frowned, feeling every inch of betrayed. Not only had they clearly been planning this without him--and being left out **again** definitely didn't feel so hot--but that was _his_ favourite movie. They wouldn't have even known about it if it wasn't for him. Bobby's dad was a bit of a fighter plane nut (Heck, Bobby was sure half the reason his parents allowed him to go to the Xavier Institute at all was because his dad was busy drooling over the Blackbird) and he had grown up with Maverick and Goose and Iceman, even though his mom had thought it was a bit age inappropriate. She was just as bad as his teammates. (Jerks!) It was Bobby who had suggested watching it on one of their movie nights in the common room, and it was Bobby's tape that had been worn so thin that the tracking skipped in places with the number of times they'd seen it since (as marked clearly in his mom's neat printing on the cover. She insisted on labelling everything of his with 'Robert L. Drake' when he moved to the Institute, even his gitch, which was pretty embarrassing in the locker room with the guys.) They could all quote the dialogue and sing the song from the karaoke scene. It was a favourite in the X-jet.

They didn't want him to come because they thought he was a little kid. Bobby sighed in the way that only a soap opera diva or a wronged ten-year old could admirably pull off. And maybe they were right. They wanted to go to a cool movie theatre in Scott's cool convertible and talk about cool older people things. Of course they didn't want to hang out with him.

The Professor tapped his chin thoughtfully. "The fourth? I'm afraid that's when I'm speaking in Washington, Scott." Professor Xavier had been preparing for it for weeks; a new bill was being drafted. Bobby didn't really see why it was so bad. So what if they put his name on a list? He was proud of being a mutant, he didn't care who knew. But it was apparently a big deal and everyone else seemed pretty upset by it so Bobby had kept his mouth shut. "There would be no one to stay behind with Bobby."

That made Bobby feel about two feet tall. He was practically eleven, he didn't need a babysitter. "I could go with them, Professor."

Scott and Jean and the Professor had exchanged _'a look'_ and Bobby knew immediately that they were thinking about _'the incident.'_ Two weeks ago, nearly three, really, Jean had asked Bobby if he wanted to get out for a bit and do the grocery shopping. She usually asked Scott, but they'd been bickering during that morning's Danger Room run and Scott had been busy waxing his car with the kind of vigour he usually saved for training sessions since. Bobby had already done his chores for the week, unloading the dishwasher and cleaning their bathrooms, but Jean was always nice to him and really pretty and she smelled good. It wasn't like grocery shopping with his mom at all. They sang along to the radio in the van; they had cart races down the canned goods aisle. It was awesome. Everything had been going great until that lady had accidentally ran over his toe with her shopping cart in the frozen foods section. It was just instinct. The Professor had been training them to flip to their powers on as a defence mechanism to protect themselves against some sudden noise or threat, but still maintain control. Bobby had easily stayed in control of his snow, it was just that the grocery store wasn't the best place for that to happen. Gosh, that lady had a set of lungs on her. Thank goodness the Professor could mind wipe people.

"I don't think that's necessarily the best idea, Bobby." His voice was gentle. Bobby knew the Professor wasn't trying to be mean to him, but that still didn't mean it didn't suck. "Wasn't there a video game you wanted?"

"I guess." Bobby sullenly kicked the carpet in the Professor's office, no longer excited by the prospect of a new adventure in Hyrule. Now it seemed like a consolation prize, a purple participation ribbon on track-and-field day. Lame.

On the ride home from the grocery store, Bobby had been terrified of how much trouble he was going to be in. Professor Xavier had just smiled at him in that slow sad way that meant he was disappointed even if he wouldn't say so, and told him that it had been an honest mistake. It was like letting down his mom. His dad would yell something terrible and sometimes ground him, but at least there was an expiration date on his anger. His mom's punishments lingered for what felt like forever, in looks and decisions and trust in him, and so did the Professor's. Bobby hadn't been out of the mansion since, hadn't even dared to ask until today. The Professor's answer told him that he was still a disappointment.

"Geez, it's a game, not a torture device." Warren ruffled his hair, and Bobby ducked out from under it, glowering. He really wasn't in the mood. Generally, he liked Warren. At twenty-one, Warren was the coolest adult he had ever met. He knew a lot about girls and baseball and the slang combining the two. Someday, Bobby would find out what 'third base' was and why it made Scott chuckle and Jean go almost as red as her hair. "Don't look so torn up, Frosty."

Unlike the rest of the team, Warren didn't always sleep at the mansion. Sometimes, he went back to his dad's over the weekend in New York, which was where Bobby guessed he would meet these girls he always told stories about in the locker room. Scott would sometimes have enough, usually if the conversation drifted to Jean (or some other 'firebush', whatever that meant, that "hand-to-God, looked just like her, Summers, you'd have blown your load,") and tell Warren that he was full of shit, and then apologize to Bobby for swearing in front of him. Warren never apologized, and boy, did he sure use a lot more curses than 'shit.' Bobby always wanted to ask him to stay; Warren was... different for a day or two when he came back from his dad's. Angrier, more intense, less fun. But Bobby was sure it would come out sounding funny and that Warren would take it the wrong way and he couldn't just go telling _a guy_ that he missed him when he was gone, (when did the voice in Bobby's head start sounding like his father's?) even if he meant as a buddy.

"Iceman," Bobby corrected for about the millionth time, not that Warren would listen. The Professor had made them chose codenames because of the new bill. He had said it was important for 'maintaining their rights and personal freedoms,' whatever the heck that meant. It had been easy for Bobby; he'd been secretly channelling Tom "Iceman" Kazanski since he joined the X-Men. (He was way cooler than Maverick.) Bobby Drake couldn't stop bad guys, couldn't be cool and calm and awesome, but Iceman sure could. It was like a secret weapon he could summon up whenever he needed to be strong. Warren had been giving him guff ever since, calling him 'Snowman' or 'Frosty' and asking about his corn cob pipe. Like _he_ could talk; 'Angel' sounded like a girl's name.

"If one of us stayed back with Bobby though, the rest of us could go, right Professor?" Bobby frowned at Scott as he asked again, expecting (hoping, really) that maybe they'd all rally and demand that he be able to come out with them or, at the very least, stay home with him in a show of support. He should have expected it though; they were always leaving him out of things, Scott especially. Or Cyclops, Bobby supposed. Sometimes, it was like he was two people. Scott could be alright most of the time (not tonight, tonight he was a movie-asking-about-and-Bobby-deserting-t

raitor), but whenever he was in his uniform, Cyclops was almost always mean to him. Bobby sort of suspected he hated having Bobby on the team. Whenever they had a mission, he was always going on about how it was too dangerous for Bobby, that maybe they should leave him at home. It was so unfair.

The Professor almost never said no to Scott (Warren was always mumbling about 'brown-nosing,' but Bobby largely suspected that if Warren didn't goof off so much and worked as hard as Scott did, the Professor would like him better too... especially because the Professor didn't treat _him_ like a little kid) and this time was no exception. Bobby gave his teammates the cold shoulder the whole week. By the time Friday morning came, he was getting really good at one word answers.

When Bobby made his way downstairs for breakfast (at nine in the morning, thank goodness; if the Professor was away, Scott would give them a break on the pre-dawn Danger Room session) Warren and Jean were making Bobby's favourite, waffles with whipped cream _and_ chocolate sauce (or, more specifically, Jean was preparing them and Warren was sitting on the counter making her laugh and eating the batter.) Hank looked up from the paper and lifted his coffee mug like he was cheers-ing, Jean practically beamed brighter than the sun coming through the window over the sink, and Warren had gotten up to cuff him on the arm, (and didn't even bug him about his Ironman pyjamas for once.)

"Hey champ, how you doing this morning?" Warren only called him 'champ' when he felt bad; most of the time, Bobby was 'kiddo,' which was still an improvement on 'Frosty.'

"Fine," Bobby muttered, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk and looking over the Sports section Hank had discarded on the table. There were rumours that the Yankees were going to trade Chris Singleton to the White Sox. Bobby wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was a pretty decent up-and-coming center.

Warren didn't take the hint and plopped down in the chair next to him. Bobby kept his eyes on the box scores. "Have a good sleep?"

"Yup."

"D'you see what we're making for breakfast?"

"Yup."

"D'you happen to check out the den this morning?"

"Yu—no...?" Bobby looked up from the paper then, and Warren was grinning from ear to ear.

"You might want to take a gander; there's something in there for you that I picked up last time I was in the city. It's from all of us. Waffles are still going to be a few minutes..."

"They'd have been done already if someone hadn't eaten the first batch of batter," Jean chirped across the kitchen, licking waffle mix off the spoon herself.

"It was Hank, wasn't it? " Warren shook his fist. "Damn you Hank and your relentless batter eating ways. Have you no self control?"

Bobby didn't really catch Hank's reply, already pounding down the staircase and across the front entranceway to the den. There, by the N64, in all its gold boxed glory, was Ocarina of Time. He turned it over in his hands reverently, holding his breath. There was nothing like opening a new video game. He carefully broke the seal, removing the instruction manual and reading with the kind of focus that the Professor hoped Bobby would tackle his English assignments with. Bobby usually found reading boring. He liked math instead; it was way easier. They called down to him three times that breakfast was ready before he could stop, and even then, he brought the box, the manual and the cartridge up the stairs with him.

Scott was in the kitchen by the time Bobby returned, helping Jean plate and whip cream the waffles. Hank was pouring juice and coffee and milk; Warren was liberally drizzling chocolate syrup and grinning. "That's the right one, huh kiddo?"

Bobby forgot all about his one word answers and his anger at his teammates, talking excitedly around mouthfuls of breakfast. "Yeah, it looks so awesome! Even better than the Nintendo Power article said! It's all in the past and there's this place called Death Mountain and I'm totally going to play it all day and--"

"Slow down." Jean was biting her bottom lip and trying not to smile. "We still need to do our training."

"Oh." Bobby had forgotten about their Danger Room session.

Scott looked like he was holding back a grin too. "I was thinking we could work on hand-eye coordination today. Field stuff. Maybe play some ball. I was just outside setting up the bases; it's actually pretty nice for December. What d'ya think, Bobby?"

Bobby pumped his fist; he loved field exercises. Heck, he would've played ball in two feet of snow if the others were in. "Awesome!" There really were moments when Scott could be just as cool as Warren was. Bobby didn't understand why he didn't act like that all the time.

Half an hour later, Bobby was punching the pocket of his glove in the locker room, trying to warm the leather up before they headed outside, giving himself the pep talk his dad always gave him in the car on the ride to little league. (Don't swing at the first pitch. Watch your base coach for signals. You gotta have your eye on the ball before you can get your glove on it. Throw out the lead runner. If you get hurt, shake it off. Be a man.)

Warren was lacing up his cleats next to Bobby. "You and me, Snowman. Think we can take these guys?"

Bobby nodded seriously. "Iceman. In our sleep."

Warren was _fast_ on his wings and had a good eye for where a ball was going to drop and an arm like a cannon. "That's what I like to hear." He grinned, all teeth and charm. "Catch that, Summers? 'Our sleep.'"

Scott smiled back, but there was competitiveness in both of their faces now. "You'll excuse me if I don't go cowering in fear." Warren was good but Scott was better, as long as Jean threw fair, which she almost never did. Jean pitched for everybody, and she had a wicked changeup and an even meaner slider and a distinct love for striking out Scott. For everybody else, she just lobbed nice clean pitches over the center of the plate.

"Want to make it interesting?"

Scott laughed shortly, swapping his sunglasses for his uniform visor. It was funny to seen him in half civvies. Scottclops. "I don't think I have enough liquid assess to make a bet 'interesting' for you."

"Winner goes tonight, loser stays in the mansion with Bobby." Warren held out his hand and Scott shook it after a second's hesitation. Bobby had nearly forgotten that they were being jerks and going to have fun without him that night. He frowned (If you get hurt, shake it off, be a man) and Warren must have seen it because he quickly added, "You know I don't mean that in a bad way, kiddo." The loser had to stay with him. How could Bobby think he meant that in any other way but bad?

But they had made him waffles and got him Zelda and set up the ball diamond for him, so Bobby put on the biggest smile he could fake. "Nah, are you kidding me?" He dropped his voice to that hoarse breathy way of talking that Warren always used when he was telling them about his 'conquests.' "Have you seen Jean? I'd much rather spend the night with her than me."

And that must have been the right answer because Warren cracked up and Scott was doubled over and even Hank was smiling. "This kid..." Warren gave him a heavy pat on the back that almost knocked the wind out of him. "I fucking love this kid." That felt like a million bucks. Bobby lived for making them laugh, even if it was at his own expense and even if he felt crummy, because it meant he was being useful for once and that was something.

It had been close, but Warren and Bobby had come out on top by two runs. Scott and Hank had won the flip for home team, but Scott popped an easy fly for the last out, stranding Hank on third. Warren had been under it by a mile, snagging it effortlessly and then scooping Bobby and Jean up for victory hugs and high fives and cheering. And then Bobby was kind of pushed aside (left out _again_) and Warren and Jean just stood and hugged on the pitcher's mound for an awfully long time.

Bobby snuck a glance over at Scott, who was standing at the plate, an end of the wooden Louisville Slugger in each of his hands. That made sense; if he broke the bat on his swing, no wonder he flied the ball. He looked mad about losing; he was still stewing when they made it back to the locker room. Scott really _must've_ hated Bobby to be that upset over having to spend the night with him.

Warren was the last to come out of the showers; Scott was nearly dressed and gone, though it seemed like he was going faster than normal. Hank was sitting on one of the benches, buried again in a book, only clothed from the waist down. All Hank ever did these days was read. He used to be really talkative (though half the time Bobby didn't exactly understand what he was going on about) but now he hardly said anything to anybody. Bobby wondered if it had anything to do with all the blue hair he had to pick out of the shower drain over the last few weeks (cleaning the bathrooms was a terrible chore.) He looked at Hank's chest, the hair nearly sweater thick, and then back down at his own bare one. Maybe it was that puberty thing they'd talked about in public school health class. More hair, hormones that caused 'different and new interests' (Bobby had thought his teacher had been implying an interest in _girls,_ but maybe he'd misunderstood and it was just a new interest in anything...) Not only that, but Hank seemed so sad about it. Bobby didn't know why; he was personally stoked for becoming a man.

Warren broke the silence of the room, towelling himself off. "It's a shame you lost, Scott." He really didn't seem all that sincere. "We're going to have a great time tonight. Now Hank, I don't want to sound like a prude--"

Next to Bobby, Scott snorted. "I don't think anyone was about to accuse you of _that_ anytime soon."

Warren shook his wings out in a calculated flick, spraying Scott with droplets of water. Scott scowled. Bobby giggled. Hank read. Warren continued. "As I was saying, _Hank_, it's going to be a perfect opportunity for you to pick up. All of us, actually. I'll bag some twins, only three or four sets, I'll go easy tonight--"

"You, easy? Never." Scott was balling up his socks like they had personally wronged him.

Warren smirked, "We'll get Jean a real man, and I'm thinking it might be a good time to find Hank a nice girl to settle down with before..."

Scott sort of growled deep in his throat and Hank cut in, holding up his book. "A generous offer, Warren, but these are the only companions I need at the moment."

"I hear you, big guy. I prefer my companions to be leather bound too, if you know what I mean." (Bobby did not know what he meant.) "So, what's your type? Brunette, blonde," he chuckled, "_redhead?_"

"Why don't you drop it, Warren?" Scott wasn't just annoyed anymore, he sounded really angry.

"What do you know about this, Summers?" Bobby sometimes forgot how big Warren's wings could be when he had them full out. Intimidating. Scott didn't even flinch. "Not all of us have it as easy as rolling out of bed and putting on a pair of bifocals."

"_I_ have it easy? What, Warren, was that silver spoon cold when you were born with it in your mouth?"

"You act like you have a monopoly on living with a burden around here, Summers. I have a past too."

Scott jerked his thumb at the poster of the naked girl Warren had hung in his locker. Bobby could never look at it without blushing. "At least I didn't need penicillin to get through mine."

"Not surprising," Warren scoffed. "Hell, you wouldn't even need a condom."

"Do you always have to be as crude as humanly possible?"

"Do _you_ always have to be as vanilla as fucking ice cream? You know what she said to me the other day? 'Do you think it's me, Warren?' Can you believe that? Her? Pff, if she wasn't so hung up on your scrawny ass, the things I would do her. Kitchen counter, Danger Room, bent over one of the seats of the Blackbird, on your bed..."

"You are so fucking inappropriate." Scott was clenching his fist at the side of his visor. Bobby could see his knuckles going white. He paused, took an audible breath, and the tension in the room seemed to ease a notch. "Sorry Bobby, didn't mean to swear in front of you."

Warren rolled his eyes. "He's not five, Scott; he can handle it. That's your problem, you know? You think everybody's all innocent and ideal. You're too busy trying to protect them up on your pedestals to see what they really need and who they really are. Hell, I don't even know what the big deal is about Snowman coming out with us."

There was a reason Bobby liked Warren the best. "Yeah, please can I go tonight? I hate being stuck in the mansion. It's boring and I don't get to see people and there's nothing to do. I promise I won't freeze anything." Bobby thought about it. "And if I do, Iike Warren said, no big deal. I mean, I don't care that I'm different. Why should anyone else?"

Scott sighed. "It's not as simple as that, Bobby. I really wish it was. And Professor Xavier said no." He used his 'Cyclops' voice on the last sentence. Bobby didn't understand why he kept looking at Hank. "Staying at the mansion's really not so bad."

"Yes it is! You all get to go out and I'm stuck here and it sucks."

"I'm not opposed to minding Bobby for the evening." Hank glanced up from his book again and smiled vaguely in Bobby's direction; Warren and Scott went dead silent.

"No," said Scott finally, sounding as guilty and sad as Warren looked. "You shouldn't... the Professor said...You don't know if you're going to get many more chances to...."

"Yeah, Hank, Scott's right." Warren was nodding like the Darryl Strawberry bobblehead Bobby kept on the shelf above his bed. Bobby sometimes didn't know what to think about Warren and Scott; they were _just_ arguing a second ago and now they were agreeing. They used to be really good friends, but sometimes it seemed like they hated each other and Bobby didn't know why. "You've gotta go." What had the Professor said about Hank? Nobody included him in anything. Now really didn't seem like the time to ask though.

Hank shrugged but kept his eyes down. "It's probably for the best if I get accustomed to the reality of my situation sooner than later."

Bobby had no idea what 'situation' they were talking about, but it didn't matter because he was too busy being a genius. Really, they should have listened to him more often; he was brilliant. They weren't going to take him; Scott had put his foot down and once he had, there was no convincing him otherwise. Bobby was still kind of mad at them for all wanting to go, but what could he do at this point? "I could stay at home while you guys went." This way, for a night at least, maybe Warren and Scott would stop fighting and maybe Hank wouldn't be all sad and quiet.

Scott raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling. "Yeah, that was kind of the idea, Bobby."

"No, I mean alone."

"Oh." And that was better than 'no,' because 'oh' meant Scott was thinking about it.

"Please?"

Warren winked at Bobby behind Scott's back. "We're only going to be gone for two, two and a half hours max, Summers, and town is less than a twenty minute drive. The mansion's built like Fort Knox. Frosty'll be fine." Bobby didn't even bother to correct him because Warren was on his side.

So was Hank, surprisingly. "We _did_ just install the new infrared monitoring system around the perimeter."

"Pleeeeeease?"

If Bobby could've seen Scott's eyes, he was almost certain he would have been rolling them. "Fine."

Which was how Bobby found himself alone that night, drinking too much soda and boomeranging virtual jellyfish in the mansion while his teammates were out having fun without him. Four cans of coke did not exactly do a bladder good, and the second he defeated Barinade, Bobby was practically running through the front entranceway to the closest bathroom, taking the main stairs two at a time. He didn't even bother to shut the door as he peed; Bobby supposed there were some good things about being home by himself.

His walk back was significantly more relaxed. Bobby stretched out as he went, blinking more than normal because he was certain he'd forgotten to for the last half hour and his eyes were starting to sting. ("Don't sit so close to the TV," his mother scolding him. But she wasn't here to tell him that and neither was anyone else.) As he neared the top of the stairs, he sort of skidded on the carpet, just managing to grasp a hold of the banister before he went 'ass over tea kettle' (one of Warren's expressions). Bobby looked back, confused, thinking maybe he'd somehow accidentally iced it on the way up in his haste to make it to the toilet. He'd have to clean it up before the others got home. But it was fine.

He looked down; that was _not fine_. His feet were shiny and icy and almost see-through. That had never happened before. He tried to turn it off, like his snow, clutching onto the railing because he couldn't really get his balance. It was like when Jean had got him to freeze over the pool last winter to try ice skating. Bobby hadn't liked it one bit and he definitely didn't like this. It wouldn't go away; he couldn't control it. Iceman, it was a stupid codename and he didn't want it anymore. It didn't even fit him. Panic settled with a tight lump in his throat.

The Professor always said it was weird (no, not 'weird', Professor Xavier never used words like 'weird' or 'strange' or 'odd' when he was talking about their gifts; _anomalous_ was what he said, but Bobby didn't understand that word and when he asked Warren later, it was him that said 'weird') that Bobby's powers had shown up so early, and that they might change when he got older. Facing it now, Bobby didn't want that change, thought about Hank and the fur and the sad quiet, wanted to be Snowman more than anything because he could never _be_ Iceman (Scott was that calm, Warren was that cool, not Bobby, not him, he was scared, he was so scared) and why couldn't he get his feet to go back to normal and-oh-God-oh-God-(his dad's now: 'Don't take the Lord's name in vain' but Bobby wasn't trying to, he meant it, _Oh God, oh God why me? Why?_)-why-won't-they-go-back-to-normal-because-you're-not-normal-you're-not-normal-you're-not-normal-you're-not-normal.

And that was why the lady in the grocery store screamed, and now he couldn't breathe and he was dizzy and he still couldn't really see his feet and his eyes were going all blurry and he was worried that they were freezing too. He thought of ice cubes popping out of a tray onto the kitchen counter and that was terrifying, but they couldn't be freezing because they were hot, so hot and so wet and he shouldn't cry (shake it off, be a man) but he couldn't help it and that was why the others didn't want to hang out with him, because he was a big stupid baby.

He went to wipe his eyes, angry again, frustrated with himself, forgetting his hold on the banister. And then he was flying and maybe that was part of his new power too. For one brief moment, he thought that this must be how Warren felt, no, Jean, because Warren always flapped; Jean just hovered and Bobby was hovering except now he was falling and it was a long way down. He let himself go limp, knowing that trying to brace for the impact would only result in broken bones. Bad guys seemed to like throwing Bobby around a lot; he was good at landing safely.

He thumped down hard, gasping as his shoulder felt like it was being ripped in two. (So much for landing safely.) And for at least a minute or maybe a hundred years, there was only pain (PAIN) and it hurt worse than anything Bobby had ever experienced before. Something was very wrong. He didn't want to look, but he knew he had to because he was the only one there. He was nearly sick to his stomach when he did. He could actually read the "ugger" in "Lousville Slugger." The bat end, (someone must have left it at the bottom of the stairs) splintered and sharp as a stake in a vampire movie, was red with his blood and poking out of his shirt. Through his shoulder. (_Oh God, oh God why me? Why?_)

He pressed the emergency radio on his communication device so fast and so many times in a row that when Scott _finally_ replied he was all broken up "Bo--y w--- th- -eck, a-- you --ay?--Wh--'s g--ng -n?"

But Bobby couldn't say anything (Shake it off, be a man) because he was going to cry again if he opened his mouth and he didn't want them to hear him cry. He just kept tapping the button furiously like it was a controller and he was defeating an end boss.

It hurt really badly. (Shake it off.) But he couldn't, even though he _was_ shaking so hard right then that he couldn't stop and he was cold, and Bobby was _never_ cold. Shock. That word resurfaced from the boring first aid training the Professor made them take (the only funny part had been when Warren had pretended to feel up the dummy) and Bobby wasn't going to need that stuff anyway because someone else on the team would do it. But now there was no one else and he was alone and he didn't know what to do. His stomach was tight. He didn't want to look at the blood on the floor or the wood splintering out of his shoulder anymore, and so he closed his eyes and that was kind of better. He tapped and waited, tapped and waited, tapped and waited, utterly Bobby Drake and nothing else. He couldn't find 'Iceman' in him, didn't want to.

There was a big whoosh of wind. Warren. And he was sort of shimmering around the edges like the stained glass at the church his dad made him go to on Easter and Christmas (but everything in the room kind of was) and he was an adult and he was reassuring and he was _there_ and Bobby thought that maybe 'Angel' was a pretty alright name for Warren after all, until he opened his mouth and spoiled it. "Oh, fuck me." Warren was down on his knees and he was looking at the blood and back to Bobby and back to the blood, two, three, four times. Up close, Bobby saw that one of his eyes was swollen and red and half-shut. Normally, Warren would be bragging about it; they'd be comparing battle scars and trying to one up each other, but he was stone serious and he looked scared and that was making Bobby scared too. "Are you okay, kiddo?"

It was a knee-jerk of a question, automatic, and so was Bobby's reply. "Yeah." He was happy he managed to get it out without fainting or puking, because he was not okay and he and Warren both knew it.

Warren reached out, touching Bobby's shoulder with fingertips as soft as the downy feathers he left all over the bathroom linoleum. Bobby's vision sort of blurred-jumped-skipped for a second and now he was crying and he was shaking again and that was making the pain worse. "Fuck. Sorry. Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Bobby wasn't sure if Warren was trying to reassure him or himself but either way it was really not working. "Everyone's on their way. I just flew ahead because it was faster, but they're going to be here and Hank'll patch you up. I promise they'll be here any minute, okay Snowman?" Warren looked like he was going to try to touch Bobby again and Bobby wanted to pull away but moving was bad and being touched was bad and Warren would—"Snowman, ice up. Why aren't you iced up?"

Bobby knew that Warren was going to notice sooner or later. Bobby had done it before; a piece of metal rebar caught his arm kind of funny once when they were facing Magneto and tore a big gash in it. (It seemed big at the time, 20 stitches, but it was nothing like this.) He'd frosted up until they'd made it home; that had temporarily stopped the bleeding. Bobby remembered sitting in the infirmary and deactivating his power and the gush of red that came out. He'd fainted and hit his head, a concussion on top of the stitches. His mom had driven all the way from Floral Park to yell at Professor Xavier about that. Bobby had known they shouldn't have told her. But that was just his snow, and Warren didn't know about the creeping ice and his feet going clear and him not being able to stop it, about Hank and his fur and the change and the fear and everything, everything, everything. He couldn't do it because what if he couldn't undo it? He shook his head, still not really trusting himself to speak.

"Come on, Bobby."

And then there was Scott speaking again, tinny and full of static. "--ngel? We ---d a- --atus r--ort."

Warren gently lifted Bobby's fingers from the communication device, prying them off knuckle by knuckle. Bobby hadn't realized he had been tapping the button still. His hand was throbbing from the grip he had on it and Warren squeezed his palm softly. Everything Warren was doing was suddenly soft and careful and that was not right. Warren was all charlie horses and roughhousing, back slaps and punches on the shoulder. "Cyclops, this is Angel. Please repeat the last transmission."

"What's the situation?"

Warren gave Bobby's hand another pulse and then stood, motioning that he would be right back. He kept Bobby in view, which meant that he was not nearly far enough away so that Bobby couldn't hear what he said, his hissed whisper carrying easily. "Not good. Mansion's fine but the kid's in rough shape. Fell on the stairs I think... Impaled himself. There's a fuckload of blood, Summers. We need Hank and fast." Bobby tried to focus on something else besides the fear and the pain. Normal stuff. Warren was breaking the rules. They were not supposed to use real names over their radio in case the signal got intercepted.

Scott didn't even scold him. Scott would've scolded Bobby. "ETA is eight minutes."

"Eight! Are you kidding me? That's too long!" Warren was no longer bothering to whisper.

"I know that; the car only goes so fast. Just... do what you can and we will be there as soon as possible okay? Keep him calm. Cyclops out."

Warren jogged back across the entranceway, executing a nice bent-leg pop up slide to end up right next to Bobby when he skidded on the blood. (There was a lot of blood, Bobby realized.) Warren always looked like he meant to do whatever he did, even if he messed up. He was so cool. Bobby was just cold, shaking more now.

Warren tried to smile at him, but it fell flat on his face. "They'll be here in no time, champ. Two, three minutes. Nothing to worry about. I need you to snow up though, okay? Just in case they're a little bit longer." Bobby had been hoping that Warren had forgotten. "Please?"

He didn't want to. Warren couldn't make him. "No." And because Warren had looked so confused, so upset, so frustrated, Bobby knew he had to explain. It was getting harder to speak and to order things in his brain. Everything was going all soft and wavy. He couldn't point, (moving was bad,) so did his best to obviously look down at his feet (he could feel it creeping, it must've been part way up his calf by now.) "I'm scared to. S'different." He didn't want to admit it, half worried Warren was going to laugh at him.

"Oh. Oh." Warren's smile was genuine this time if not all that encouraging. "Don't be scared, alright?" If it had been Cyclops, he'd have told Bobby to toughen up and face it, forced him to do it even though he didn't want to. But it was Warren (and he didn't laugh, thank goodness) and he wasn't like that and Bobby was grateful. "It'll be okay. Hank and Scott'll know what to do when they get here. While we wait, I'm going to grab some stuff from the infirmary for your shoulder and I'll be right back, okay?"

"'Kay." Bobby lay there and tried not to think about the ice or his shoulder, willing Warren to hurry. He counted slowly down from a hundred to distract himself. It didn't really work. He didn't know which was terrifying him more. His arm hurt really bad, and there was a lot of blood and that was frightening, but at least that was a normal thing. The ice was like when a bee landed on his arm. He could feel its tiny legs on his skin, crawling, almost tickling, but there was that worry it was going to sting and it was keeping him on edge.

Warren returned with an armload of thick gauze pads when Bobby had reached number 38 in his count. He unwrapped one of the packages carefully, trying to keep it sterile. "I guess I should have paid better attention during that first aid training, huh? It was pressure to staunch bleeding, right?"

It was good he had just spent the majority of last week practicing speaking in one word answers, because that was all Bobby could manage right now. "Yeah," he replied through clenched teeth. Bobby had learned that much at least.

"Okay, this may hurt a little." As he pressed down around the wound, Bobby remembered thinking that by 'hurt a little,' Warren had apparently meant 'hurt way worse than when you fell on the stupid bat in the first place,' before everything went all narrow and dark.

Bobby didn't think he had passed out for too long, but when he awoke the first thing he heard was Hank, so he wasn't all that sure. "--set bones, stitch cuts, that type of thing, Scott. This is major trauma." The others had arrived which meant Scott was here which meant that Bobby would probably be in trouble for messing up but things would be fixed. Scott always knew what to do. Bobby could feel that Hank was very close but he kind of sounded far away and Bobby couldn't open his eyes to check. "It could be touching an artery. And that's besides the fact that he appears to have gone into some sort of catatonic cryo-organic state I've never seen before." Stupid Hank and his stupid big words that Bobby didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, okay?!" Warren sounded like his mom did that one time Bobby got lost at the mall. "I was just trying to help."

"And you did, Warren. If he was fighting his mutation as you said, he would've likely bled out before we arrived. Upon losing consciousness, his body transformed itself with a sort of vestigial survival mechanism. It's fascinating."

"Let's save the medical journal article for later, Hank. How do we deal with Bobby turning himself into an ice cube right now?" asked Scott, and Bobby started to panic all over again. Ice cube? No no no no.

"I can't even get a pulse--" To Bobby, it was sort of like swimming, getting back through his head to his mouth and to the entranceway with his team. He focussed on Hank's voice, low and clear and talking a lot now. It was medical stuff, stuff Bobby didn't understand, but it wasn't the silence and the sadness and it was almost like Hank used to be. "--the vitals are nil but only because the equipment refuses to--"

"Guys, he's waking up." Bobby was surprised when he opened his eyes and saw Jean first. She looked like she'd been crying, and Bobby wondered if they'd gotten to the part in the movie where Goose died before Bobby had called for help. She knew it happened, but she still cried every time. Bobby would never get girls. She smiled at him, too bright and too wide for her to not be faking for his sake. "Hey, Bobby. How you feeling?"

Bobby tried to sit up, but Warren was pinning him by his good shoulder and his chest so Hank could work. "Easy, Frosty." Bobby knew the protocol. Jean would've been providing TK support as well, but he obviously couldn't see that. Scott was holding down his stomach. Bobby noticed he was only using one hand, the other swollen and cradled in his lap. He looked at Warren's eye, already darkening now into a fierce shiner, and wondered if maybe they'd gotten into a fight with someone at the theatre. Jean and Hank looked fine though.

Stuck where he was, he thought about Jean's question. He was still really dizzy, but his shoulder didn't hurt anymore. It was a weird pressure instead; his body was telling him that it didn't belong there. It was kind of like having a splinter (the world's biggest splinter) and Bobby almost giggled at that, except everyone looked so serious that he didn't think he should. Ah, what the heck. "Like one of those little hotdogs on a toothpick my mom puts out for company?"

Scott shook his head, but he was smiling. "Nice to have you back, Bobby, wouldn't be the same without you." Bobby grinned; that felt pretty alright. Then Scott was all business again, addressing the team. "We need to figure out a course of action. Do we proceed here? Bite the bullet and go to a hospital? Will they even take him?"

Hank spoke up first. "Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this..." and he motioned outwards. Bobby knew what that meant. _'Sorry Bobby, this isn't appropriate for you.' 'You're too young.' 'It's age sensitive.' 'Maybe when you're older.'_

He was so sick of it. "No! I hate it when you guys do that."

"Do what?" Scott asked.

Like he didn't know. Months of pent up frustration erupted from Bobby's mouth. "Leave me out of everything! It sucks. I work just as hard as you guys and we're supposed to be friends, you're the only friend I have here, but you never include me or tell me anything important. I'm part of the X-Men, too!"

His teammates went silent. Bobby was worried that they were mad at him for yelling. Bobby didn't yell. He was supposed to make them laugh. He was just about to take it back, apologize, when Scott beat him to it. "Sorry, Bobby." ('This isn't up for discussion,' the Scott in his head finished.) What the real Scott said surprised him. "You're absolutely right. So, X-Men, what do we do?"

"As I was saying before, the gravity of the injury dictates qualified medical attention. I simply lack the equipment and the expertise," said Hank, tapping the pointed end of the bat experimentally. "I might attempt it if the Professor was here. I am not comfortable doing so without his supervision."

Scott frowned. "A hospital isn't an option with Bobby in his ice form."

"Why not?" Warren tightened his grip on Bobby's chest, slipping his other arm under his back, looking as though he was planning to fly Bobby to Putnam General himself. "If the kid needs a hospital, then we take him to a hospital."

"Obvious mutancy," replied Scott. "We might be able to sneak him in if he wasn't iced, but everyone's all up in arms about the Registration Act. We might get lucky and get a sympathetic doctor or we might get a butcher. I'd really rather not take the chance if we have another option." It was weird for Bobby. He was so used to his teammates going off without him and then coming back with a solid plan. He'd never seen them (Scott especially) unsure of what to do before. It would've been kind of nice if it wasn't about him.

Bobby could feel Warren's hand ball into a fist beneath his back. "That's such bullshit, you know? We're people too. I still can't believe they're proposing a special division of the police to deal with mutants."

"I don't know, maybe it'll mean other mutant specialized services eventually. Hospitals," noted Jean pointedly.

"Yeah," agreed Scott. "The ER isn't going to know how to deal with this anymore than we are. What if he goes back to his normal form, Hank?"

"If he reverts to flesh, if he can even manage to go back without his body fighting him, he'll likely bleed out before they can even get him on an operating table. Bobby has a history of wounds remaining during state changes. I honestly do not know what to tell you. Sedation or anaesthetic would have to be distributed in his normal form. Bobby isn't breathing right now, there are no veins in which to administer a needle, there's not even any skin to stitch. Not to mention the fact that, in all likelihood, Bobby needs a transfusion, which again, has to be done in his non-ice state. If he reverts, the doctors are going to have to go in immediately and cold, which could be unbelievably dangerous and painful for Bobby. As could the possible resulting infection if we don't have it removed."

"Geez Hank." Scott was poking his finger into the spot between Bobby's shoulder and the edge of the bat. It was not exactly comfortable. "You're full of good news."

"So why don't we just pull it out?" asked Warren, still half looking as though he was ready to haul Bobby off to the nearest doctor.

"It could be touching or even puncturing the axillary artery." Bobby could tell from Hank's tone that this was a bad thing. "The obstruction may be the only thing keeping Bobby's blood inside of him... or most of it, at least. If we pull it out, we could do untold damage and there's a phenomenal risk of d—complications."

Hank didn't say death, but Bobby knew he was going to. Still... "But it feels like it should come out." Bobby didn't know how to explain it, but it was like his ice kept trying to freeze through it, connect over the hole, but the bat was getting in the way. It was kind of tight, a scab that needed to peel off. "It doesn't feel right."

"Bobby, you have a foot and a half of wood sticking through your shoulder," said Scott, "Of course it doesn't feel right."

Bobby had already spoken up for himself once tonight (he was Iceman, he was _Iceman!_ He could do anything) and it had gone okay. He figured he might as well try again. "I want it out. It's not going to bleed, I'm frozen. Don't we get to vote or something?" This being his first time, Bobby wasn't really sure how team decisions worked.

"No, usually we talk it over and then Cyclops makes the final choice," explained Jean. She reached over and held Scott's hand. "We trust him."

It made sense to Bobby now, why Scott was sometimes a jerk to him. Being team leader had to be tough. "Boy, Scott, I'm glad I don't have to do your job."

Everyone chuckled (Bobby was just being honest, he didn't mean to be funny) and Warren punched Scott lightly in the shoulder. Lately, Warren and Scott's 'play-fighting' had gotten a lot more aggressive, both of them sporting fist sized bruises on their biceps in the locker room, but Bobby noticed that this was just a tap. "Yeah, it takes a special kind of anal retentive asshole."

Scott actually laughed (a real laugh, not one of the tight threatening laughs he usually had when Warren said something mean.) "Too bad you're just a run-of-the-mill asshole."

"Pff, wouldn't want to lead you anyways. It would seriously cut into my leisure time."

"And then the entire world economy would suffer." Scott bit his lower lip, serious again. "So, Hank, say we take it out and Bobby stays iced, what's going to happen then?"

"My best hypothesis? The wound remains but doesn't haemorrhage until Bobby returns to his tissue state." Hank frowned. "I'm still highly opposed to that course of action. We don't know how his body is going to react."

"That's what you think we should do though, huh Bobby?"

Despite Hank's warning, Bobby was sure that it felt _right._ "Yup."

Scott thought about it for a few seconds. "Alright. Angel, switch spots with me. We're going to need someone with two good hands to do this. Beast, you're main medical support in case something goes wrong. Jean, work with Beast. If he needs you to mentally close something off or sedate Iceman, don't hesitate, just do it. Iceman, I need you to anchor yourself down and try to move as little as possible, I'm going to be bracing you to oppose Angel's force."

They helped him into an awkward sitting position, his head bent and between his knees. The moment Warren pulled the bat out of him (fast, like ripping off a bandaid) Bobby felt overwhelming relief. He looked over to his shoulder; the hole was already starting to close over. "Cool." And he laughed because it was. "Get it guys? 'Cause I'm frozen." Both Scott and Warren groaned.

"Your repertoire of cold-related witticisms never fails to amuse." Hank was prodding the new spot that had just formed in Bobby's shoulder. It was a slightly different colour that the rest of his ice. "Do you have any pain there?"

"No, it feels awesome. Kind of hot and tingly, though." Bobby realized that it wasn't just at the shoulder. It was his fingertips and his toes, and then his hands and his feet and his legs and his arms. The warmth was spreading and then Hank was poking an ugly looking bruise on his skin, and that _did_ hurt. He was kind of dizzy again, and he didn't really remember how he ended up in the infirmary, but the worst of everything seemed to be over.

Hank made Bobby lay still for the first hour he was getting blood, arms crossed on his chest. It was so boring. Who had decided that the infirmary ceiling should be blank and gray? He wasn't even allowed to turn his head to watch Hank as he reset Scott's hand, or look at Warren and Jean through the observation window when they left to 'sort a few things out in the hall. Don't worry, Scott.' (That was how Jean put it.) Bobby passed the time freezing and unfreezing the tip of his left index finger, the part he could see over the rise in his chest without moving.

By the time Hank came back to change the unit of blood, Bobby was practically an expert. "Look what I can do!" And he froze his whole left arm up to the elbow (he secretly imagined he was equipping himself with a silver gauntlet.) He really liked his new ice; it seemed tougher than before. Maybe he could start punching bad guys out now.

"Very impressive."

"It's kind of cool, right? I was worried, but it's just sort of different. I'll get used to it and it'll be no big deal I think."

"That's a very mature approach to the situation Bobby." Hank had that look on his face that he got when he figured out something tricky. "'The arrogance of age must submit to be taught by youth'...at least every once in a while, right?" He was smiling broadly.

"Umm..." Bobby was thankful that he was saved from answering (was that even a question?) when Warren and Jean returned. Jean went right over to Scott, sitting next to him on the other bed.

Warren lingered in the doorway, awkward. Bobby had never seen him like that before. "So, uh Jean and I were thinking we could salvage movie night if you guys are still interested. We've got everything cleaned up and ready to go upstairs."

"I don't know, Warren, we've had kind of a long night." Scott was picking at the paper covering the medical cot, but Bobby could see that he was smirking. "I _always_ do, but I'm just not sure that you guys really feel the need."

"How can you even suggest I don't feel the need?" Jean stuck her tongue out at him.

Hank rolled his eyes but agreed, "I suppose I feel the need as well."

"I definitely feel the need," chimed in Warren. "What about you, Iceman?"

(Iceman!) Bobby could tell that things were different, not exactly like they used to be but good again: Hank wasn't quiet, Scott and Warren weren't fighting, Jean didn't look uncomfortable. Bobby realized that their team had been slipping for ages, but they finally felt like a group again (a group that he was _really_ a part of now,) and even though he wasn't exactly sure what had changed, Bobby was happy that it had. "Oh, I feel the need..." Bobby was grinning so hard that his face started to hurt.

"...the need for speed!" They finished with him; his team, his friends. (And really, that was better than a new video game any day.)

* * *

Comments and reviews are love.


End file.
